These Small Hours Still Remain
by lilabut
Summary: No, this was not how Jacob Black had imagined this night to turn out. Neither did he think that being a daddy was like this... ONESHOT


**.::these small hours still remain::.**

our lives are made  
in these small hours  
these little wonders,  
these twists & turns of fate  
time falls away,  
but these small hours,  
these small hours still remain

all of my regret  
will wash away some how  
but i can not forget  
the way I feel right now

_**Rob Thomas, Little Wonders**_

_**--------------------------------------------------------  
**_

„God damn it... why is he never home… _shhh_….. oh, for the love of…. _shhh_….. argh, screw this! _Shhh_….."

It´s Friday night, 8:39 p.m., the sun just set, a last glimpse of summer's glow floating over La Push, the smell of twilight in the air, quiet and serene, no distant cars or chattering tourists; the moaning breath of the rushing ocean close in the west.

Yes, it could have been a perfect summer night. If only there had not been the single sound disturbing the peace.

The shrieking, gut-wrenching, agonizing, high-pitched cry of a small body wrapped in a soft, white cotton blanket with little sheep printed all over it, securely guarded in a pair of strong, russet-coloured, muscled arms.

Who thought something so small could hide such force inside…

No, _this_ was not how Jacob Black had imagined this night to turn out. Neither did he think that _being a daddy_ was like _this_.

He loved his daughter, loved every bit about her. He loved the creamy touch of her skin, her tiny snub nose, the fluff of black hair which covered her head, every mimic, every blink, the way her few lashes cast a hint of a shadow underneath her blue-brown eyes, her tiny plumb fingers, the square-millimetre-sized excuse of a fingernail, every rise and fall of her chest, her roundish belly, her tiny feet, the dirty, husky sound she made whenever she attempted to laugh, the way she stretched out her leg when he tickled her in the hollow of her knee – yes, he even loved each toy, each "baby item" he had ever stumbled over in these past months. He loved his daughter. More than he ever thought he could love anything in this world.

But at this moment right now the thought crossed his mind that fatherhood might not have been the right thing for him after all… which was of course ridiculous. _He_ had been the one most eager for the baby; the one who almost hugged the life out of Bella when she told him she was pregnant. _He_ had been the supportive one, the one who soothed Bella whenever she doubted something, reassuring her, trying to take her fears away. _He_ had been the one who had shed tears the moment his tiny, fragile daughter had been placed in his oversized arms.

No, if there was something in this world Jacob Black was sure of it was that becoming a father had been the best thing that could possibly have happened to him. But still…

Supporting Bella in everything she did, changing diapers, bathing, getting up late at night to cradle his daughter in his arms when she had awoken, placing her in Bella's tired arms; hell, he would have even breastfed her if he had been able to. He was a good father. That he told himself in this very moment. Over and over.

But this was different. Now he actually had to be a father and a _mother_. And there, for the first time, he faced a brick wall of things he could not deal with.

When Bella had told him that she and some of the girls wanted to go out, get some drinks, just _have fun_ he had been too eager to support her (_again_), willing to take care of their daughter alone for a night for the first time, giving Bella some well-deserved time-off.

And now here he stood, his daughter in his arms, the telephone locked between his shoulder and his cheek, his body rocking in rhythm with his soothing, calming sounds (or the attempt of it), nervous sweat on his forehead, his own voice barely audible as his daughter's cries drowned them out while he tried to reach Sam Uley.

Three hours, three god-damn hours had he spent with feeding, bathing, dressing, humming, cradling, playing; he had even started to sing in order to get his daughter sleeping.

All in vain.

So, twenty minutes ago when the fear that his baby might suffocate from screaming had crept into his head, he had started to call Sam – the only member of the pack with experience in nursing. But, as usual, nobody picked up the phone. It was always like this. You could never reach the Uley`s.

Sometimes Jacob considered that they had turned off the phone's sound, just like Bella did while their daughter was taking a nap, only that _they_ apparently did that the whole day, _every_ day.

Why having a phone when you never use it?

"_Shhh_, lambkin…. _shhh_….. oh, come on…"

Had he been able to hear himself his groan of frustration and despair would have frightened him a little. It was too rough.

But the only sound he heard apart from the constant crying was the steady beeping of the phone right at his ear_. They would never pick up_…

For a second he considered calling Bella, asking her to come home early. Actually, to be honest, he had had that thought several times this evening. But he would not give in.

No, he would prove that he was as good a mother as Bella was.

He would not surrender.

Of course, there was yet another possibility. Someone else with experience on this subject to call. And Jacob was sure that person _would _pick up. But… that was even more of a humiliation than calling Bella. _No, no, no, no…_

"Screw this…"

With a muffled _thud_ the phone drops into the creamy-green-coloured sofa-cushions and Jacob moves his arms securely, gently pulling the tiny body there closer to him.

"Come on, do Daddy a favour, yeah? _Shhh… shhh_…"

He feels weak, all of a sudden. Just like he had in hospital 10 months, 3 weeks, 2 days and an estimate 4 hours before.

The same kind of weakness; the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help.

Throughout the entire pregnancy he had been eager, supportive, ecstatic. It had been him who bought a whole package of books and magazines about pregnancy, nursing, parenthood and such the day after Bella told him he would be a father. He had framed the ultrasonic scans, had asked Bella's gynaecologist all kind of ridiculous questions whenever Bella allowed him to join her for an appointment. He had fallen asleep each night with his hand on Bella's stomach. He had been interested in everything there was to know. But there had been one thing he had always avoided.

The birth.

If there was one thing he could not stand it was seeing people he loved in pain, knowing that he could not help. Not really. All he could do was _helping_. Not _help_.

He could not give birth in Bella's place. Instead he could only hold her hand and wipe the sweat off her face with a cool washcloth while hearing her scream, seeing the pain in her eyes.

He had felt so useless, so _help_less himself.

And now he felt similar to that, holding close what meant most to him. And still unable to stop the pain.

"_Shhh_…"

Murmuring calming words he slowly walks back into the nursery in which he had spent days and days repapering the old walls, painting, furnishing.

It was dark in here, the only light coming from the little lamp in the outlet (round with the picture of a little wizard on a meadow, glowing dimly in the dark) and the tiny stars over the cradle.

"_Shhh_…"

Shifting his daughter's barely-existing weight onto his right arm he stretches out his left hand and pulls at the string that hang from a plushy rabbit, it´s ears almost twice the size of it´s body.

A soft melody fills the room, his daughter's cries more and more turning into a hiccup.

"_Shhh_…," Jacob whispers, pressing the baby close to his warm chest, swaying his arms carefully, humming the melody into his daughter's ear.

And for a tiny hopeful second he thinks that he had won. She is quiet. Her breathing calmer as she nestles against his chest.

But before he could even stop humming, another agonizing cry breaks the newborn silence and Jacob sighs in defeat.

With a look of disturbance and pain on his face he walks back into the living room and picks up the phone from the couch.

Swearing to do _everything_ necessary to keep this a secret he dials the number he swore to himself he would never ever dial in this case of an emergency and once again locks the phone between his cheek and shoulder.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Be –

"Hello?"

Sigh.

"Dad? I… I need your help…"

When Bella comes home that night, exhausted and eager to be back home, she stumbles into the house, her shoes in her hands, careful not to trip over something on her way.

Tip-toeing through the hallway she opens the bedroom door for an inch and peeks inside, her eyes needing a second to adjust to the dark.

Tears gather in her eyes, dangerously close to spilling over, her lips forming a content smile as she sees Jacob sprawled across their bed, fully dressed (as far as you could define cut-off jeans and a grey t-shirt as _dressed_), his mouth slightly open, just as always when he was asleep, his arms securely wrapped around a bundle of white cotton.

In that moment Bella feels bad for doubting Jacob, for sitting in her chair anxious all night, her mind always back home, afraid that Jacob might be overstrained with their daughter all alone.

And when she gently cradles her daughter in her arms and carries her into the nursery, placing her in her bed, kissing her forehead and admiring her sleeping features, she promises herself to never ever underestimate Jacob's abilities as a father and to tell him straight tomorrow that her period is late instead of waiting another week and doing a dozen of tests like she had last time… No, she would tell him tomorrow…

With that thought in her head and a smile on her face Bella takes over her daughter's place in Jacob's arms, nestling herself against his warm body, falling into a deep sleep only to be ripped out of a vivid dream two hours later, her daughter's cry filling the house…

* * *


End file.
